“It feels rather remarkable, seeing everyone gathered like this again.”

Ahazan spoke lightly to Ashton, Clodine, and the rest. Cal, ever perceptive, signaled a servant to bring more wine. Glasses were distributed, toasts exchanged, and as the clinking continued, the night deepened into warmth.

“Your Majesty, there you are.”

“Yuri.”

Yuri appeared, dressed sharply in a pristine white uniform adorned with gold trim and buttons. After exchanging a grin and greeting with Ahazan, he offered Ashton a polite nod. Judging by their ease, they had already met earlier.

As pleasant intoxication began to soften the edges of conversation, Ahazan spoke in a casual tone.

“As Her Majesty’s first official duty, how about personally introducing Duke Haimos to the Imperial Palace?”

The suggestion felt impulsive enough that Clodine hesitated. Ashton, however, brightened immediately.

“If Her Majesty would grant me that honor, it would become a memory I cherish for a lifetime.”

Clodine returned his smile with measured courtesy. The carefree familiarity of their childhood days, running across snow-covered peaks, was nowhere to be found in either of them now.

“Even I have been away from the Empire for some time, I am not certain I could present the palace as it deserves.”

Ahazan nodded thoughtfully.

“Then Yuri, assist Her Majesty in receiving Duke Haimos as a state guest.”

Yuri glanced between Clodine and Ashton before smiling warmly.

“It would be my honor.”

Thus, beginning the very next day, Yuri led Clodine and Ashton, a trio strange in its composition, through the far reaches of the Imperial Palace.

That night, amid the wine and conversation, Clodine learned the truth.

After Arabel’s defeat in the Northern Continental War and the loss of his parents, Ashton had forfeited his hereditary title in exchange for being transferred immediately to the Harrison Empire. Known even in southern lands as a prodigy since childhood, he had caught the attention of Emperor Icarus of Harrison, who adopted him and tasked him with educating the young crown prince.

For the sake of Ashton’s safety, the Harrison Emperor had kept his existence concealed for years. Only recently had he been allowed to move freely beyond those guarded confines.

‘So that is why he was granted the detached palace… and why Ahazan placed his reception in my and Yuri’s hands.’

Clodine narrowed her eyes slightly as she observed Ahazan and Ashton conversing over their wine. The two seemed entirely at ease.

Was Ahazan simply overjoyed to see an old friend believed dead? Perhaps. And yet, the extent of his hospitality felt… excessive.

Receiving a state guest required balance. Fairness. This felt almost personal.

Clodine swallowed a dry smile.

Emotion was the one thing she had always believed Ahazan incapable of allowing to influence his judgment. Years beside him had proven that much.

‘There must be another reason…’

What was his purpose?

As if sensing her gaze, Ahazan looked up at the same moment. Their eyes met across the room. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but the charming smile he wore seemed laced with something deeper, something deliberate.

***

It was well past midnight before Clodine was able to retire.

The thought that this exhausting ball had originally been scheduled for the previous evening made her shudder.

Despite her fatigue, sleep would not come easily. She had just finished bathing and was about to slip into bed when a soft knock echoed at her door.

There was only one person who would dare knock at her chamber at such an hour.

If I ignore it, he will assume I am asleep and leave.

So she told herself, lifting the covers.

Yet she remained standing, unmoving.

The knocking had ceased, but still she did not lie down.

“Ha…”

With a quiet sigh at her own foolishness, she turned and walked toward the door.

Even with her hand on the handle, hesitation warred within her. She was not naïve enough to be unaware of the intentions of the man waiting outside. Nor did she possess the shamelessness to feign ignorance.

Time stretched uncomfortably. Perhaps he had already left.

That thought, ironically, pushed her to turn the handle.

‘He must have gone already.’

She opened the door.

Her lips stiffened.

Ahazan stood there, long night robe draped loosely over his shoulders. One shoulder leaned against the doorframe, and in one hand he held a bottle of wine and two glasses with careless ease.

Though she had expected him, the sight still startled her.

She opened the door fully and met his eyes.

“You already drank quite a bit, didn’t you?”

He had not been sparing at the ballroom earlier.

At her remark, Ahazan’s lips curved softly.

“Feels like we didn’t share a proper toast.”

What, exactly, would qualify as proper?

Clodine looked at him with open curiosity. Ahazan laughed under his breath.

“At times like this, just assume I wanted another drink with you and let it pass, Clodine.”

As if nothing were unusual, he stepped past her into the room and set the bottle and glasses on the table.

“It’s wine from the Generva region. I’ve wanted you to try it for a while. Sweet enough, with a good weight to it. It seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

Clodine had always known how to appreciate fine wine. Before the war, they had often shared drinks, and Ahazan knew well what she favored.

“If your taste has changed, tell me. I can adjust.”

His phrasing was deliberate. It inevitably brought to mind what had happened by the lakeside days ago.

With no real choice, Clodine approached, the hem of her nightgown whispering across the floor. She accepted the glass he poured and handed to her.

“One’s taste in wine doesn’t change so easily,  It may broaden, perhaps, but rarely change.”

She swirled the glass gently and inhaled. The fragrance promised depth.

“A welcome change, then.”

Clodine lowered her gaze to his glass as he stepped closer.

“From now on, you will formally share the affairs of the Empire with me. I look forward to working with you, Empress.”

His tone was light, almost celebratory, as he lifted his glass in a toast.

A toast was meant to commemorate something worthy of celebration.

Clodine wondered briefly whether her becoming Empress of Van Helsing truly deserved such national rejoicing.

Almost at once, Cecilia’s words resurfaced in her mind.

‘There are rumors that the dantéra root has withered in Helman and Yusra…’
‘I hear the palace is buying up everything available… Even if it is only rumor, would that not be serious?’

A quiet question formed.

Has Ahazan heard the rumor as well?

She lifted her eyes to him, her face carefully blank. He offered his usual effortless smile.

As she moved to clink her glass against his, she stopped just short.

She had chosen this marriage, yet it had also been one she could not refuse.

Because of that, she had never truly considered speaking with Ahazan about her infertility.

Regardless of how it had begun, the outcome was clear. Clodine Ramier had cast aside the name Penelope and become a member of the Lernando imperial family.

As Empress, there were public duties she must bear. Personal sentiment should not interfere. The people who wished for prosperity and awaited the birth of an heir had committed no sin.

They were not only Ahazan’s subjects now, they were hers as well.

Whether she had wished it or not, that was reality.

“I have something to say.”

Clodine withdrew her glass mid-toast, wrapping both hands around its slender stem. Her head was bowed; she could not see his expression.

Her voice was quieter than usual. Slower. Almost diminished.

‘How could I ever treat as a woman a queen who cannot bear children?’

Her former husband’s voice echoed in her memory.

Infertility, so sudden, so cruel, had been the one catastrophe she had never foreseen while preparing her entire life to become a queen.

The day she had accepted the unending absence of her monthly cycle, she had felt, for the first time, relief that she had not become Ahazan’s wife.

Had those words come from the man she loved, she might not have survived the grief, not as a wife, but as a woman.

‘And yet… here we are.’

Perhaps it was still fortunate. If Ahazan were to look upon her with disdain, she might now endure it.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she silently mocked herself.

“I don’t know whether you already know this… but I cannot bear children.”

After the words left her lips, silence fell.

An indistinct unease crept over her. She told herself it was fear of the Empire’s reproach.

But if she were honest, she feared something else far more.

‘How could I ever treat as a woman a queen who cannot bear children?’

This time, the remembered voice sounded like Ahazan’s.

‘I must have drunk too much tonight.’

She closed her eyes, unwilling to confront what she truly feared.

“Clodine.”

At that exact moment, Ahazan spoke her name quietly.